


Dress for Battle

by lolcat202



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-29 01:29:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7665031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lolcat202/pseuds/lolcat202
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laura has her own uniform. Set during Resurrection Ship Pt. 1.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dress for Battle

As the hiss of the Raptor’s hard seal echoed through Colonial One’s cabin, Laura sighed and leaned her hands on her desk and hung her head. “Well, that went well,” she muttered, likely more to herself than to the man seated in front of her.

Bill grunted in reply. Went about as well as everything else had gone in the last two years, anyway. Helena Cain was gunning for him. Laura Roslin was pissed at him. Chief and Helo were condemned to death by firing squad. Yes sir, Madam President, things were going swimmingly, I’ll look forward to a commendation from you any second now.

 “Well, at least I can get rid of these,” she said, and he looked up to catch her toeing her shoes off and kicking them under her desk. It was a habit that she probably had no idea was so endearing, but since they’d come back from Kobol, she’d kicked off her shoes the instant she was alone with him. She probably did the same with Billy, but still, he took it as a high compliment. Then again, he’d seen her looking like a drowned rat in the storms on Kobol, so he supposed something as small as being barefoot in his presence hardly registered after that.

“Nice shoes,” he commented before he could stop himself. Of all things he should be paying attention to about the President – her health, her visions, her policies, her tally on the whiteboard – footwear was not one of them. At least, not one that he should ever admit to noticing.

Fortunately, she didn’t seem to register his observation; or if she did, she didn’t make an issue of it. “Oh, thanks,” she said with a shrug. “Seemed appropriate.”

Bill had no idea that there was such a thing as appropriate footwear for ripping a new one into the two senior officers of the Colonial Fleet. “You’re dressing up for the Admiral? Somehow I think I should be insulted.”

Laura laughed at that, a full laugh that he hadn’t heard in Gods knew how long that had her shoulders shaking and her hair tumbling in front of her face. “Don’t worry, Admiral, she’s not my type.”

 _Who is_? he wanted to ask, but managed instead to choke out a perfectly acceptable, “Then why the shoes?”

“Oh, something you learn early on when you’re a woman in politics. The harder the ass, the higher the heels.”

She didn’t stun him into silence often, but when she did, she did it well. Laura chuckled again at the dumbfounded look on his face. "Mmmm...people – usually men, but occasionally women – don’t take me seriously unless I can stand up and stare them straight in the eyes, and it’s hard to do that from several inches below." She paused for a second, staring off into space as she no doubt refought in her mind battles won years before the Cylons showed up. "I used to wear the highest heels I owned when I was about to do something that Richard - President Adar - didn't like. He usually tried to charm me into doing whatever he wanted, but he couldn't quite pat me on the head and send me on my way when I was nose-to-nose with him." She snorted, but couldn't quite hide the blush creeping across her cheekbones. "So to speak. So, whenever I have an opponent that I know won’t break easily, I bring out the big guns.”

“She’s not that much taller than you,” he pointed out.

“True. But I don’t think she thinks that.”

She had a point. Helena Cain entered a room like she commanded it – _which she did_ , he reminded himself – so he could hardly blame Laura, with her delicate voice and conservative, Presidential suits trying to even the playing field. She wouldn’t hold a gun, Lee had already told him that, but she’d use whatever other weapons were at her fingertips. Or at her feet.

Personally, Bill preferred the smiles and compliments to the crossed arms, severe suits and pointy shoes. He was man enough to admit that the ‘kill him with kindness’ approach of hers was probably a lot more effective in the long run than his own method of ‘throw her in the brig.’ Clearly, since she was still the President.

She settled into the soft leather chair next to him and stretched out her legs, flexing and pointing her feet as she sighed away the discomfort. Bill half expected Billy to pop through the doorway and offer to rub her feet, but for once, her assistant was nowhere to be found. It was nice, having a few moments of her undivided attention. They didn’t have many opportunities to sit and talk as they had on Kobol, and, given the dark circles under her eyes and the hollows starting to become more pronounced in her cheeks, he wasn’t sure how many opportunities were left.

“If they hurt so much, why did you buy them?” he asked. Political strategy was one thing, but Bill Adama was a practical man at heart. Then again, his wardrobe consisted of reg blues and dress grays, and an occasional set of camos or pair of well-worn jeans. Who was he to comment on what passed for fashion in the fleet these days?

“I didn’t buy them,” she said with a sly grin. “I borrowed them. From Ellen.”

He’d have given his commission to be a fly on _that_ wall. “That must have been a fun conversation.”

His dry tone earned him another full laugh, and he couldn’t help laughing with her. “Trust me, Bill, you don’t want to know what she thought I wanted to use them for.”

 _Oh, yes I do._ Then again, knowing Ellen, he didn’t really have to wonder too hard about it. He could feel a flush creeping up the back of his neck. Time to move on from that particular line of thought. She was the President, after all.

“So, I’m guessing that since you’ve never stared me down from such lofty heights, you don’t think I’m a hardass?”

This time, the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, and he couldn’t pretend he didn’t see the sadness behind her carefully maintained veneer of charm. “Bill, you’re a marshmallow at heart. For anyone that you have the tiniest bit of affection for…you’re an easy target.”

There he was again – speechless. A marshmallow? He was the commanding officer of the Galactica and, up until a few days ago at least, the commanding officer of the fleet. He’d staked his military career – and the lives of the men and women under his command and under his protection – on his ability to roll the hard six. Then again, considering how he’d acted when Kara was missing, how he’d acted when Laura had absconded to Kobol with Lee, how he’d acted any of the hundred thousand times Saul had shown up at the CIC swaying on his feet and sweating whiskey, he couldn’t deny that she probably had a valid point. Dignity refused to let him admit it, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t right. He opened his mouth to argue, but she cut him off with a wave of her hand. And, marshmallow that he apparently was, he didn’t even try to stop her.

“And that’s why I know you’re not going to like what I have to say,” she continued, sizing him up with her determined stare.

No, he probably wasn’t.

“You’re going to have to kill her.”


End file.
